


in the low lamp light i was free

by carrotstix



Series: like silver in the sunlight [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison and Stiles are Twins, F/F, basically allison comes back to life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:39:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrotstix/pseuds/carrotstix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Being dead is like being halfway to falling asleep. It’s like being self-aware as you float in and out of dreams, but instead they’re memories, some that precede even what you could remember as a child. You get glimpses of your mother, your real mother, and honeyed hair that hangs down into your face, chocolate eyes so much like your brother’s that he would weep if he knew."</p><p>or</p><p>Allison is dragged back from death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the low lamp light i was free

**Author's Note:**

> i've had his finished for ages but i just never got around to posting it, to be honest

_when my time comes around//lay me gently in the cold dark earth//no grave can hold my body down//i’ll crawl home to her_

_-‘work song’ by hozier_

\--

Being dead is like being halfway to falling asleep. It’s like being self-aware as you float in and out of dreams, but instead they’re memories, some that precede even what you could remember as a child. You get glimpses of your mother, your real mother, and honeyed hair that hangs down into your face, chocolate eyes so much like your brother’s that he would weep if he knew.

You see a lot of him, too. Soft memories browning at the edges, of grass between your toes and Stiles running somewhere behind you, his laughter following you along the edges of the tree line. Of Christmas mornings spent draped in pajamas and wrapping paper as you tore into boxes and bags and the embroidered stockings that hung over the fire place.

And of course, there’s the bad memories, too. Your father’s gun in Scott’s face and his hand around his neck, you shouting in the background. Knocking arrow after arrow on your bow and watching as they pierced Boyd’s skin while Erica pleaded for you to stop. Clinging tight to Stiles’ hand at both of your mother’s funerals, hot tears on your cheeks.

Your favorites are of Lydia, of her bursting into your room with Macy’s bags and demanding you clear your schedule. Moments when your hands brushed or the smiles she gave you, cheering together at lacrosse games and the way she hugged you.

And sure, you miss them all, but you allow yourself to get lost in the memories anywhere.

//

Memory Stiles is sitting across from you and laughing through a mouthful of eggs when you feel something tugging at you, as if it were grabbing your hand and trying to pull you to awareness.

Trying to pull you _awake._

You don’t have think about it for more than a second before you know that it’s Lydia.

You let her pull you along without a struggle, throwing one last glance at the still laughing image of your brother behind you.

 _I’ll see you soon,_ your mind whispers.

//

You come to with a gasp of air and Lydia’s face swimming in the far off vision, looking down at you with eyes soaked in concern and exhaustion. She returns the smile you give her before she slumps down, causing you to lurch forward.

Or, you try to, at least. Your muscles are tired and achy from a lack of use, and you only get maybe a foot off the ground before they give out and you fall back down, landing back on the padding of the coffin with a huff.

It’s a sharp pang of shock when you realize you’re still in the coffin, surrounded by four sloppy walls of earth. There’s pieces and flecks of dirt fallen out of place that litter your clothes and the white inner fabric of the casket.

You try to sit up again, and you manage to pull yourself into a sitting position, wincing at the cracks of protest your body makes. Your body feels heavy, laden with deadweight you can’t see, and you groan.

“Easy there, tiger,” you hear, and you look up to see your brother, leaning against a shovel and giving you an impish smile.

You don’t have time to try and stand before he’s swooping down and gathering you into a hug, wrapping his arms tight around your back and pushing his face into the crook of your neck. His tears are warm against your skin as he starts to cry, and all you can do is sob as you pull him closer.

//

The two of you pull yourselves out of the grave with a little work and a lot of help from the shovel, and you find yourself crawling over to Lydia the second your feet touch the dewy grass.

Her chest rises and falls at a steady pace, and her heart rate is pretty average, if a little fast. It’s likely that she just passed out from exhaustion, and from the way his head keeps dipping beside you, it looks like Stiles might be joining her in a couple of seconds.

He actually does end up falling asleep, head dropping onto your shoulder and drool dripping from his mouth. You only smile, rolling your eyes and looking back down at the girl whose head is currently resting on your lap, her hair fanned out over your legs and tickling the ground. It seems almost crazy to think that you were dead only hours ago, if that.

But now you’re here, sitting cross-legged in a cemetery with Lydia in your lap and Stiles on your shoulder while your heartbeat thuds in your chest and you feel so very much alive.

//

There are faint rays of light breaking through the trees when Lydia comes to.

Stiles is still dead to the world, having slumped off of your shoulder and landed on the ground, sleeping the entire time. He doesn’t move at all when Lydia stirs, even when she stretches out and her foot nails him right in the shin. Then again, digging up your twin sister’s grave at midnight can do that to a person.

Lydia comes to with a soft yawn and quiet shifting, until her eyes are alert and staring up at you.

“Hi,” she murmurs, and the smile her face breaks out in is wide enough to cause wrinkles.

“Hey,” you mumble back, tapping the back of her hand with two of your fingers and grinning.

Her eyes glisten with the tears building behind her eyelids, and you can feel matching ones brimming in your own, so you don’t say anything, just grabbing her palm and hoping she gets the message.

By the way she reaches up to slide a hand around your neck and pull you down to press her lips to yours, you think she gets it just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> *finger guns*  
> tbh i just love stallison twins


End file.
